


Dragons Can Be Beaten

by DarkTidings



Series: Greene Farm AU Collection [1]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 02, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Beth Greene Lives, F/M, Gen, POV Beth Greene, POV Shane Walsh, Science Experiments, Shane Walsh Lives, Sophia Peletier Lives, Survival Training
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:34:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27139444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkTidings/pseuds/DarkTidings
Summary: Fairy tales are more than true: not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten - Neil GaimanBeth Greene has a very big secret, even bigger than the fact that her father is keeping walkers in the old barn.  When a hunting accident brings a wounded former deputy to the family farm, she thinks for the first time, she might have an ally in figuring a way out of the mess her family has gotten themselves into.
Relationships: Abraham Ford/Carol Peletier, Beth Greene & Michonne (Walking Dead), Beth Greene & Shane, Daryl Dixon/Michonne, Maggie Greene/Shane Walsh, Rosita Espinosa & Beth Greene, Rosita Espinosa/Glenn Rhee
Series: Greene Farm AU Collection [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1981015
Comments: 177
Kudos: 58





	1. Teenage Boredom

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WalkerBethG](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WalkerBethG/gifts), [IfWishesWereHorses](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IfWishesWereHorses/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beth does more than ignore the walkers in her family barn, while a less distracted Shane tackles Carl out of the way of Otis's bullet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As requested by WalkerBethG (full request in end notes), also incorporates IfWishesWereHorses Eugene has the cure request.
> 
> Posting this a few days early as a treat, as it will replace _Hell is Furnished_ when that story finishes in 2-3 days. :)

_Fairy tales are more than true: not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten - Neil Gaiman_

Beth climbs the ladder to the hayloft of the barn. No one is in view to see what she's doing, which is nothing new. Only Jimmy really cares anymore to pay attention to her comings and goings, and the exasperating blond is mucking out stalls in the horse barn right now. If Beth were a better person, she would help, but it's the one time a day she can do this and not get questioned about it.

The growls from the stalls below are almost worse than the stink. She ties her lavender scented bandana over her face as she pulls the repurposed cooler out from its hiding place behind discarded tools and junk. Opening it, she grabs the first composition book and edges to the railing to peer down.

"Hi, Shawn. I really wish Daddy was right, you know. But I guess we used up our store of miracles with me." The snarling thing that was once her brother bumps around its stall. Uncapping her pen, she carefully notes any changes from yesterday in the format required by her AP Biology teacher all sophomore year for observational studies.

Biting her lip, she flips the pages back to last Saturday, when she took her weekly Polaroid and taped it into the notebook. Sighing, she looks between the monster below and the photo. "Marked deterioration," she mutters. "It's been hotter this week. Maybe heat is still a problem like regular decomposition."

Beth will have to make that a new factor to record, since she didn't think to include it before. The big thermometer outside the kitchen window will work well enough. It's hard to keep up with Patricia's feeding schedule, so that's maybe a factor, too. Maybe the chickens this week were of lesser quality or something. Or sick. She'll have to inspect the flock carefully when she feeds them this evening.

Making the hypothetical notes in Shawn's notebook, she tucks it back in the cooler and reaches for the next one. It's harder to look down this time, which is why she saves it for after Shawn. "Hi, Mama."

The only reply is a snarl, as usual, so Beth compares the Saturday picture to see if the same small leap in decomposition exists. It's actually more noticeable with Annette, maybe because she had long hair. Her thick, flowing hair persisted in being honey gold for weeks, slowly getting dirtier, but intact. But like Shawn, bald spots have shown up this week. Making the same notes, Beth sighs and peers into the remaining two stalls she can see.

These two are neighbors, and she doesn't observe them in as much detail. They're showing the same hair loss, however. She bets the rest, the ones she can't see from the hayloft, are all the same. Crossing back to her stash of notebooks and supplies, she switches them out to record what she can.

Slowly unlacing the leather cuff she has to wear over her left wrist, she inspects the mark of her mother's teeth. It's still a pale, purplish-gray scar, the inflammation of the disease long gone as her flesh knitted back together despite a chunk missing. Touching that indentation on the outer edge of her forearm, she frowns and hastily puts the cuff back in place. 

Feeling a little weird, she tugs at locks of her hair. She hasn't noticed any increased hair loss, but she hasn't been looking for it, either. Nothing significant comes away in her hands.

She takes the pink notebook and opens it to make the most boring note ever: Bite still healed, no physical changes. Tucking everything away next to the hidden Polaroid camera that was once her mother's, Beth hides the cooler carefully and heads for the exit. With the coast still clear, she heads toward the house, whistling softly and smiling as Julliard comes running. 

The furry Husky/Aussie mix ended up with a unique look of being a spotted wolf dog, with the merle coloring from her mother dominating all the darker areas of her otherwise husky coat and physique. She's been unhappy as summer heats up, with more regulation this year on her having water to play in. Deciding against going to the house, with its overwhelming air of grief, she and Julliard follow the trail down to the pond.

As the dog flounces happily in the water's edge, Beth just flops in the grass and stares at the clouds. Normally during the summer, she would have a dozen things to do, helping her mama. Patricia is nice enough, but she doesn't have the constant need to have busy hands Annette had. The world's come to an end outside this farm, and Beth is suffering the typical teenage malady… she's bored!

~*~*~*~*~

Of all the things Shane thought he would end up doing on what has become the road trip from hell, searching for a lost child in unfamiliar woods was not one of them. The groups are separated now, most returning to the highway while Shane, Rick, and Carl continue to search near the church. Crunching leaves and snapping twigs, combined with growls, draw their attention. Positioning Carl between them, Rick and Shane advance, praying they aren't about to find something worse than walkers.

A pair of decayed walkers, one missing an arm, and the other short enough to be either a teen or short woman, are clawing at the base of a leaning tree. At one time, the big tree was upright, like any other oak. But storms or flooding tipped the tree, causing it to lean against a nearby tree. The support of the second tree kept it from completely uprooting, and in the way of old oaks, it kept enough roots in the ground to stay alive somehow.

Prey on the ground lures them more than whatever scampered up the leaning trunk. Both turn toward Rick and Shane, the short one dragging a leg that seems to be losing some of its ligature. Ordering Carl to stay back, Rick reaches down and hefts a fallen limb with a grim expression.

"Flashing back to our Little League days?" Shane teases softly, searching the ground for another. He doesn't see anything, so he shifts his knife out. Neither of them want to fire a gun and find how many others are nearby.

Rick snorts and swings at the one armed walker, hard enough to splatter the skull like a pumpkin. Shane trips the shorter walker to make it easier to plant his knife in its skull, before kneeling to clean the gore off his knife blade on the scrap of t-shirt clinging to the once woman. They both look back to Carl, who looks torn between being grossed out and excited.

"Wonder that they were chasing?" Shane muses, peering up the trunk.

He gets the surprise of his life when a dirty, tear streaked face pops out of the leafy crown. "Mister Walsh?"

"Holy shit, Sophia. C'mon down here, sweetheart." Caught up in the surprise, Shane scrambles up onto the trunk, catching the girl as she loses her balance trying to come down the incline and its rough bark. 

She clings to him, sobbing out, "You found me."

Meeting Rick's eyes, Shane grins, enjoying the happy relief on his brother's face. Carl looks excited enough to burst. "We were all looking, Sophia. Everyone has been out in the woods looking, including your mama."

She finally loosens her hold enough to look around, smiling tearfully at Rick and Carl. "I tried to follow the sun like you said, Mister Grimes, but there were two more walkers between me and the highway. I had to run, and no matter how much I looked, I couldn't find the highway again. I stayed the night in a house and started looking again this morning."

A house at least explains why she's wearing mostly different clothes than Shane remembers. While the childish t-shirt is the same, although dingy gray with sweat and dirt, it's covered by a man's flannel shirt. The shorts she wore yesterday have been replaced by worn, oversized jeans that look like they've been hacked inexpertly short enough for her height.

"You did just fine," Rick assures the girl. "I should have taken a lesson from you and helped you climb a tree. Let's get you back to your mama."

Sophia nods, letting go of Shane as Carl comes forward and offers her his hand. The two kids walk along ahead of them after Shane points the correct direction out. Rick keeps his limb, swiping at underbrush idly as they trek through the woods.

"Doubt her mama is going to let her get more than a foot away for months," Rick comments.

Shane shrugs. "Hard to tell. Carol didn't used to be as overprotective as Lori, but this could change her perspective entirely." Plus Carol doesn't have Ed breathing down her neck now.

"Makes me want to get one of those toddler leashes." 

The intensity of Rick's declaration makes Shane chuckle. Watching the two kids, he's glad they found Sophia. Losing someone his own age isn't a lesson he wants Carl learning just yet. Maybe he isn't Shane's main responsibility anymore, not with his daddy back, but he's still family.

"Not sure one of those would work any better now than it did when he was a toddler. Remember the time he slipped the leash and hid in the clothing rack at Macy's?"

"Considering Lori had nightmares about it for a week, yeah." Rick chuckles, just as the kids halt ahead of them.

"Dad, come see!"

The men ease forward at the excitement in Carl's voice. The deer is a gorgeous specimen, chewing slowly as it stares back at them. The buck is remarkably calm for a wild animal so close to four people, but maybe they're downwind. 

"Can I try to touch him, Dad?"

Before Shane can say it is probably not the best idea, especially with a buck, Rick gives permission. Not wanting to contradict the other man, he watches as Carl edges forward, Sophia reluctantly letting go of his hand. Attention mostly on the buck, expecting him to leap away at any time, Shane glances just beyond the deer.

There's no time to call out a warning, and he's moving before he even completes the mental "oh shit!" The best sign that he's succeeded is the burning pain that rips though him near his left shoulder and down on his belly. It gets worse when he impacts the ground, trying to roll so that he doesn't crush Carl beneath his weight. The boy's scream of pain and the gruesome sound of snapping bone tells him he didn't achieve that goal.

There's shouting and apologies, and Shane fights against the burn in his shoulder and gut trying to drag him unconscious. "Carl," he groans.

Blue eyes appear, hovering above him as excruciating pressure is placed on his belly and shoulder both. From the searing pain that flies like lightning down his arm, it may not have been Carl's bone that snapped. It's not Carl or Rick looking down at him, but Sophia, looking terrified yet determined. "He's okay. Broke his arm, but he didn't get shot," she explains. "Stay awake, Mister Walsh."

Shane blinks, focusing on the tears slipping down her face even as she ignores whatever argument is going on around them. "Wha' they screamin' 'bout?" he slurs. Sophia shifts, skinny arms bare back down to that tattered t-shirt she disappeared in. The flannel shirt she had on must be what she's using to put pressure on his wound… wounds? It's hard to tell anymore, because everything on his left side is ablaze with pain.

"The man who shot you is apologizing, but Mister Grimes punched him when he tried to touch Carl. Says he's an EMT."

Vaguely, Shane wonders if that's why the girl knows to put pressure on the wound, or if Rick told her. They certify each year at the Red Cross, after all. EMT near or not, there's no hospital. He figures his chances of survival are next to none, especially as hard as it is to breathe.

Finally, Rick pops into his line of sight. "Hang on, brother. There's a doctor nearby. We're gonna get you there.”

"Carl." Sophia said he wasn't shot, but Shane has to know for sure. He has to know, dammit.

"He's okay. Man's rigging up a split for his arm."

That sends a jolt of guilt through him. Shane is probably twice the boy's weight, and he took Carl down like it was game day. But it is getting harder and harder to keep his eyes open.

"Hang on, dammit, Shane. Don't close your eyes."

He tries to apologize, even as he loses the battle to stay alert, Rick's frantic voice following him into the darkness.

~*~*~*~*~

Beth will never even think the word bored ever again. Even as she lay in the soft grass, mind numb for anything to do while she ignored the reality of what lives in the old barn now, others were facing so much worse. When the shouting child runs across the field from the direction Otis left to hunt, Beth is closest. 

She intercepts the boy, who has his arm tied to his chest. He is sobbing so hard she can barely make out his words about Otis shooting a man in the woods. In the distance, she sees the others running. "Go!" she tells him. "My dad's the doctor you were sent to find."

Once he runs in that direction, Beth scrambles for the treeline, Julliard at her heels. She reaches it in time to see Otis and a strange man in a deputy's uniform laboring to pull an improvised drag stretcher made from two saplings and Otis's hunting jacket. Both men look like they're about to fall over from exertion, and they're trailed by an anxious girl trotting alongside the stretcher.

"What happened?" she demands, falling in step beside Otis. She knows offering to take over one of the poles wouldn't work, because the man being transported is huge. Not as tall as Otis, but probably as broad in the shoulders. Makeshift bandages that look like a torn up flannel shirt are belted in place at his shoulder and lower ribs.

"Didn't see the boy when I fired at the deer." Otis gasps, sounding so pitifully horrified that Beth's heart aches for him. "Man tackled him. Bullet entered under the collarbone, broke it, traveled through the chest cavity, and at least one fragment exited near the liver. Tell your daddy to prep for shock and blood loss. Think the left lung may have been hit. Gonna need the x-ray."

"Anybody know his blood type?" she asks, already tensing to sprint toward the house. Her daddy is stopped, checking the boy, but Maggie and Jimmy are almost here.

"O negative," the deputy rasps, voice hoarse and cracking. He looks terrified, and maybe he should, because that's like a unicorn to find, even before blood banks became something they can't access.

Beth dashes away, her mind repeating what Otis said. By the time she reaches her father, he and Patricia are hurrying the boy toward the house. She rattles off Otis's report, slowing to their speed.

Hershel sighs, somehow looking even older than he did this morning at breakfast. "Go pull my work truck to the porch, Bethie. We're probably going to need everything I have left."

Task given, she jogs off again, looking back to the wounded man now being carried properly with Maggie and Jimmy each holding one stretcher pole by his feet. She prays she isn't the only one whose blood type matches, because she can only donate so much. He has to live though, because kind, gentle Otis will never forgive himself if this stranger dies at his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shane took the bullet instead of Carl, and because she survived the bite, Beth's no longer as innocent and biddable as she originally was.
> 
> This will be a brother/sister type relationship, not romantic. Eugene & co will arrive much earlier, looking for the CDC.
> 
> Primary POV: Shane (Beth as needed)
> 
> Pairings: Shane/Maggie, background Glenn/Rosita, Michonne/Daryl, Abe/Carol, No Beth Pairing, Beth & Rosita friendship. Rick & Shane fix-it.
> 
> Background & Request: Beth is bitten but immune prior to Rick's group arriving. It is kept secret from the group. Otis accidentally shoots Shane in the woods searching for Sophia. Beth develops mentor/friendship with Shane during his recovery and tells him about her immunity after the barn. Eugene really has a cure, but needs someone who is immune. Eugene's group encountered post-farm, and Michonne & Andre (13) are part of the group. Beth & Michonne mentorship. Abe's kids live. Various strays (Merle, Morgan) show up near end in DC. No Randall, Woodbury, Negan, etc. No Judith. Dogs: Maggie's dog is a merle Australian Shepherd named Noelle. Beth's dog is a Aussie/Husky mix named Julliard.


	2. Content

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shane wakes after surgery to strained relations between his group and the Greenes, but makes a new friend along the way.

Shane is groggy, fighting his way past pain and confusion. His mind feels stuck in a loop of those hours and days after Rick was shot, where he wished it were him instead. Something's wrong with that sluggish idea, and he fights with whatever it is making his arm ache.

"Hey, deputy, you can't pull out your IV."

His wrist is seized in a gentle, but firm, grip. He blinks, vision finally clearing as a pretty blonde girl comes into view. Something rests against his face, and his brain groggily supplies nasal cannula as the culprit. "They hiring baby nurses now?"

She giggles and shakes her head, letting go of his wrist now that he is more aware of his surroundings. "My sister asked me to sit with you while she ran to the restroom."

As the fog of leftover painkillers recedes, Shane's memories trickle back. The pretty deer that let Carl get nearly close enough to touch. But then there was the flash of movement, the gun being raised, and no time to do anything but tackle the boy.

Followed by searing pain and the inability to breathe. Rick's pale, terrified face above his in a terrible mirror of that day by the highway. The room clearly isn't a hospital, but he doesn't remember being brought here. Finding Sophia? Jesus Christ, please let that part not be some hallucination.

"Carl? He was hurt, I think." The sound of bone breaking grinds into his memory. 

"Yeah, he broke his arm. It's all splinted up now, but he'll be okay." The girl smiles brightly, tucking a loose lock of blond hair behind her ear. She’s a petite little thing, probably a year or two older than Carl, but she looks healthy and is wearing a white blouse that definitely hasn’t seen traveling days. "I'm Beth. My daddy operated on you."

"Where is everyone?" It seems odd that none of his own people are here, wherever here is. He's got a good view of the room, because there seems to be a dozen pillows crammed around him. Moving his right arm is quickly shown to be a very bad idea.

"Supper, downstairs. I brought Maggie's plate." Beth points to the side table, where a plate of food reminds Shane's stomach it's ravenous and nauseous at the same time. He’s hoping hunger wins out, because something tells him the movement required to vomit is going to make him want to pass out again.

"He's awake?" The new voice drags Shane's attention from the blonde to a brunette in the doorway. She’s not smiling, not as happy as her sister seems to be to see him awake. With the weird fluttering attention span he seems possessed of right now, he thinks they are night and day for sisters in looks and personality.

Beth rolls her eyes before turning to Maggie. "Far as I can tell. Awful coherent for sleep talking. Do you talk in your sleep, deputy?"

"I'll go get Daddy." Apparently, Maggie is happy for the excuse to leave and ignores the teenage sass. If she’s a nurse, her bedside manner isn’t exactly well developed. She disappears before her sister can object.

"Sure, leave the one with no training and go play messenger." It doesn’t look like Beth actually objects, as she leans forward and pats the hand that has the IV in it as if she thinks he needs comfort for being left with an unskilled watcher.

Shane chuckles, even though it makes his chest ache and protest. "Logic ain't her strong point?"

Beth just smiles serenely. "Maggie's not much on patients that can talk back. She's Daddy's veterinary assistant."

That's the best irony, Shane thinks. Get shot in the woods by a careless hunter and get patched up by a damned vet. "Least he ain't a proctologist."

That sends the girl into a fit of giggles, but further jokes are curtailed by the arrival of an older man in a starched shirt and suspenders, Rick hot on his heels. 

"Shane, Jesus Christ, you scared the hell out of everyone." It's Rick jerking up short of hugging him that makes Shane wonder just how bad things got while he was out. His brother is damn near twitching with the urge to touch him, he thinks.

"Better me than Carl." It is simple as that, for Shane. He stifles a groan as the vet goes through his exam.

"You are a rather lucky man, Deputy Walsh. If you'd been upright when that bullet hit, I suspect we would be holding your funeral instead of having this conversation." After making notes in a small notebook similar to what he and Rick used on duty, the vet tucks it in his pocket. "Thankfully, your quick thinking spared the boy worse injury, and my farm hand Otis from having a death on his hands."

"Long as Carl is alright, that's the important part." Shane feels Rick's hand on his shoulder and looks up to see the shimmer of tears in the other man's eyes. "What's the damage, doc?"

"Broken right collarbone, punctured right lung, lacerated liver, and a collection of fancy new scars. The collarbone will probably plague you the most. Had to use veterinary bone plates to put it back together, and it'll be noticable later if you put any kind of strap over that shoulder."

"Hershel's agreed we can stay here on the farm while you recover, especially with Carl's arm, too." From the strained air between the two men, Shane thinks something less than polite occurred while he was out. If he's lucky, the gossipy, happy teenager will know and spill the beans.

"It's the Christian thing to do," Hershel grumbles, handing Shane a set of pills, followed by a cup of water. "Painkillers and something for nausea. In the morning, you'll need to start an oral antibiotic, but we should have you covered for now with the IV drip."

Shane looks up to the bed's headboard to see a mostly empty bag of saline with another bag piggybacked to it. "Looks like I'm in good hands, doc."

Even his best smile doesn't gain a response from the dour man, but he does nod in acknowledgement. "Need to stay elevated for the lung and the collarbone. If you need the bathroom facilities, make sure one of the men is on hand to escort you in case you fall. Keep the oxygen for the night, and we'll assess the lung again in the morning."

Hershel glances to his daughter, who is perched in the chair, munching her way through her sister's intended supper. With a deep sigh, the man frowns at Beth. "Since you're eating Maggie's meal, you're volunteering to sit with the deputy for the evening."

"We can do that," Rick says earnestly. "My wife and I, or even the kids."

"There's good food needing to be eaten. Beth can sit with him while supper's finished. And as none of your people have medical training, Maggie and Otis will take turns tonight, but your family is welcome to fill the hours in between."

"Can Shane eat anything, Daddy?" Beth asks before Shane gets the chance.

"You're welcome to make him some broth when you take your plate down. That will give his medications time to work. If the broth settles, he can have a light meal in a few hours." Hershel's bedside manner is similar to Maggie's, because he simply leaves the room without any further speech.

Rick smiles sheepishly. "Guess I better go eat before he's insulted I'm wasting food." With a squeeze to Shane's uninjured arm, he follows.

Glancing over to Beth, Shane finds the blonde is halfway through the plate of food. "Don't worry. Patricia already put some food away for you for later, and the broth is fresh, not canned. Almost as good as soup."

"You did that on purpose," he says softly. "Taking your sister's food." Shane just isn't sure whose feelings she's sparing yet, his or her sister's.

"Maggie is distrustful of strangers these days. You didn't ask to be shot or do anything wrong. It's only right that we had to look after you and Carl." 

"Being distrustful of strangers isn't a bad thing, you know. Not everyone out there will be good people." Shane thinks of whoever slaughtered that nursing home full of people and hates the thought of them finding a place like this.

"I know. But I just have a good feeling about this. Maybe you're supposed to be here. The being shot part really sucks, but I dunno." She shrugs her thin shoulders. "It's hard to explain. Sometimes you just know something is supposed to line up."

"An instinct. Intuition." When the girl smiles brightly at him adding to her nebulous idea, Shane smiles back. At least one of the locals is happy they're here, and they can use the time to regroup, especially with the collarbone putting him out of action for six weeks or more. He's seen this type of injury before, and it's going to be a bitch to recover from.

Supper must be finishing up, because Shane spies two shy and freshly scrubbed children in the doorway. "C'mere, you two."

They ease toward him on Beth's side of the bed, both eyeing his heavily bandaged right side with trepidation. Sophia half hides behind Carl, peering out around him. The boy leans in to press his face against Shane's shoulder when he motions with the arm he's got the IV in and keeps the IV line out of the way.

"It's all my fault," he says, beginning to sob softly as Shane hugs him the best he can.

"It's none of your fault, buddy, not one bit." Shane hates that he can't really hug him, just pull him close to reassure him. Gratitude floods him as Rick appears and gently eases Carl away into a firm hug.

Sophia replaces Carl, but she actually climbs carefully onto the bed, easing her small frame against his as if she were a much younger child. "Hey, sweetheart. Seem to remember you helping keep me patched together out there."

She sniffles, but doesn't cry. "You found me."

Shane isn't sure if she's forgetting he wasn't alone, or if it's because Rick lost her or even because he got hurt so soon after, but he isn't going to argue logistics with a vulnerable kid. Rick's pride can withstand being left out. "We all looked everywhere for you. Daryl and Andrea were even out during the night."

As boneheaded stupid as he thinks their little trip was, it's a perfect story for a scared kid. "Really?"

"Yeah. You can go ask Andrea." Running a hand along her back like he would to reassure Carl, he sees Carol and Lori hesitating in the doorway. "Bet your mama would take you to chat with her."

Sophia eases off the bed as nimbly as she got to him. The shifting bed isn't comfortable, but he keeps a straight face for the girl's sake. Beth gathers up her plate and gives him a soft smile. "I'll see you later, Deputy."

It leaves room for his family to stay, with Rick taking the chair on his unwounded side and scooting close once Carl is in Lori's arms. He leans on the bed, head in hands, long enough that Shane reaches out and wraps his hand around Rick's wrist. He sees split knuckles and is reminded of Sophia saying something about him punching the man who shot Shane.

When Rick looks up, he smiles as best he can. "I'm guessing things got a little hairy after y'all got me out of the woods?" Based on the fading sunlight, he's lost the entire day. It was maybe ten in the morning when they found Sophia.

"A little. The vet had some supplies, but we had to run to town, too. Cleared out his clinic. Wanted to try a field hospital, but his older girl, Maggie, pitched a fit about idiots rushing into danger."

If Maggie had to argue with Rick when his mind was made up about something, that would explain her sour mood, he thinks. People like to see him as the confrontational one, and maybe he is the short fused half of their partnership, but when Rick does get stubborn? It nearly takes God himself to dissuade him.

"Does that explain why it looks like you've had your lip busted?" Shane asks, trying not to laugh when Rick looks disgruntled. "It is, isn't it? You made the farm girl have to pop you one."

Rick shrugs, but he's flushed as red as his complexion allows. "We got back here with what Hershel needed to do more than just keep you barely alive. God, Shane, there was so much blood, and your type is so rare."

Ah, well that would complicate things. In the old world, hospitals always had a supply due to universal donor issues. Now? He can't imagine. "I'm guessing y'all figured something out?"

"That's part of why Hershel is upset," Lori says softly. "Beth's the only one. She gave two pints, and he was pretty angry she did the second without asking him."

"Tiny as she is? Can't say I blame the man. Not sure she'd make the weight to donate even one for the Red Cross standards. Where did y'all get the stuff for that? Raid a Red Cross bus somewhere?"

"Apparently, human blood bags are used in veterinary care for animal transfusions sometimes. But he couldn't blood type anyone who didn't know their type already, since he didn't have those supplies." Rick traces the damaged skin on his knuckles before looking up at Shane again. "You gotta take it easy, brother. We can't lose you."

Shane pats his forearm. "Ain't going anywhere, Rick, you know that."

And for the first time since Rick reappeared, when Shane looks at Lori, she seems to agree with him about that. Pressing her for more was stupid and foolish and almost went down an unforgivable path. This? Having the three of them all gathered around like family is supposed to, he makes up his mind to be content with what he has, because he almost lost everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Beth POV, but hopefully enough of the sassy girl to tide y'all over.
> 
> A reminder that this is a non-Judith story, at least as far as her being Shane's. She may appear later, but as Rick's child if she does.


	3. Knowledge Isn't Worth That

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beth grumbles to Shane about her boy troubles, leading him to intervene. Eugene finds himself unexpectedly the protector when he's separated from his group with a sick woman.

Beth thumps into the chair next to Shane on the porch, feeling grumpier than usual. "Boys are stupid."

Shane closes his puzzle book and nods. "I can't exactly argue with that, most days. Is this all boys or just a specific one?"

See, that response is why Beth tromped off to the porch when Jimmy made her so angry she couldn't keep hold of Daddy's teachings. She knows Jimmy didn't grow up with all the advantages she did. It's why he's here instead of with family, because her Daddy would never turn someone in need away.

She knew Shane would be out front, part of his recovery being mobile more each day. He can't go far, not with everyone still on tenterhooks about the fact that he had a collapsed lung and Daddy still isn't sure he found all the bone fragments from the rib that got shattered.

"I broke up with him like five times, and he doesn't believe me. It's stupid, because he wouldn't care if there were other girls our age here." Geez, what Beth wouldn't give for Sophia to be older or Maggie younger.

"You told your daddy he isn't listening?" Shane's expression is starting to cloud over.

"It's not bad like that," she hastens to explain. Beth's irritated with her ex-boyfriend, but he's not that kind of bad. "But I did lock him in the chicken coop. By accident."

Shane studies her for a minute, shifting in his seat. He must trust her judgement, since the anger fades, which is nice. He quirks a brow. "Accident, huh?"

"Yeah."

He doesn't chide her that it's unkind or silly, just grins and points to the book she started reading to him when he was mostly confined to bed. "Leave him there for a chapter or two?"

Beth smirks, and as she opens the book to the next chapter, she wonders for the first time if maybe he could help her with another dilemma. He's been out in the world and saw it fall. She thinks he might know way more than her Daddy hiding on this farm about the difference between sickness and monsters.

~*~*~*~

Shane isn't used to being as immobile as his injuries require him to be. Even before the world ended, it was rare for him to even sit still through an entire television football game. Granted, he spent a lot of his day in a patrol car, but that was definitely not a sedentary job in a small county with fewer deputies than most.

Hershel Greene doesn't seem too disturbed when Shane is willing to push on his recovery. He honestly senses quite a bit of relief on the part of the old man that his promise they can stay through Shane's recovery isn't going to be drawn out by the patient himself. After three days of movement between bed, chair, table, and bathroom, he adds the front porch to the rotation.

Maggie's antisocial nature doesn't improve, and he hopes she's better with animals than people. Shane definitely prefers Otis or Patricia when they assist his recovery. Patricia is quietly cheerful and honestly reminds him of his late mother in her unobtrusive behavior. Otis, once he's gotten over that he's the reason Shane was injured, proves a great resource to Shane's own group in finding supplies to tide them over without tapping into the Greenes' supplies too much.

The kids remain his favored companions. Beth brought some book in, alternating reading to him with whatever game can be played with one hand. It is certainly a better convalescence than any other injury he's endured.

Being up and mobile eases the shadows he sees in all three Grimes. The injury is far too close to Rick's to make any of them comfortable, and if Shane is entirely honest, the amount of sleep needed makes him nervous. Even reminding himself that Rick's initial coma was medically induced doesn't help.

A shadow falls across Shane's puzzle book, and he is a little surprised to see Maggie Greene standing there with a handful of the sort of puzzle books that are sold in checkout lines just about everywhere. She lays them carefully on the cushion of the porch swing next to him.

"Noticed you were about done with your book."

Writing with his left hand is tricky, but he's taught himself to do it before. As much company as he has, it's not a constant, so he has been passing chunks of time with a mixed book of puzzles Carl dug out of his duffel for him, especially during late night wakefulness waiting on pain meds to kick in. Maggie apparently pays more attention than he gave her credit for.

"Thanks." Shane doesn't bother to smile, like he normally would. Anything even attempting being social with her seems to piss her off. Closing the book he's been working on, he shuffles through the stack, finding the sudoku one and trades it out for the original.

"I was curious which type you actually liked," Maggie says, surprising him. Actual curiosity about him beyond his medical needs is outside her normal behavior in the five days since he was shot.

"I like most of them, but usually not a full book of crossword puzzles. Those get to the point you need a PhD in obscure English to manage."

It surprises him even more when she smiles. "I'm guessing you weren't an English major in college."

Shane shakes his head. "Communications, actually. Considered a career in sports broadcasting before Rick convinced me that law enforcement was our future."

Maggie leans against the porch rail. "So you two aren't just work partners."

Arching a brow, Shane leans back against the cushion on the swing put there to help support his shoulder. "What triggered this interest?"

"I overheard the conversation you had with Jimmy." 

Ah. After Beth locked the teenager in the chicken coop, Shane figured it didn't hurt to have a little man to man chat with Jimmy. The coop is beyond the area he's supposed to be venturing, but he didn't mind.

"And you aren't objecting that I offered he could leave with us?" Shane remembers being that age, with so few choices ahead that it seemed like there were none at all. He'd had his grandmother, at least, which is more than Jimmy has.

"Not if he really wants to go. Daddy would never turn him out, but he's not family."

The sheer lack of emotion in dismissing the kid makes Shane stiffen, gaze going cold as he assesses her. "Don't worry your pretty little head. I'll make sure he's no longer your burden to consider."

It's a promise he intends to keep. There's no way he's leaving that kid to be everyone's obligation here. Looking at the books she brought, he sets them all back on the cushion and takes his own, clipping the pen to the cover and tucking the book under the sling his right arm is in. "Keep them. I don't need bribes to be a decent human being."

Before she can reply, he sets off down the steps toward his own people's camp, leaving her gaping behind him. Earlier, he let Jimmy free of the chickens, and just wanted to let him know he wasn't shackled to this farm. He hasn't even discussed it with Rick or the others yet, but honestly, he knows what the answer will be. None of them will leave a kid where he's obviously not wanted.

~*~*~*~

Eugene shoves Pam ahead of him, desperately trying to figure out how they got separated from the others. They're supposed to be guarded! While Pam's not actually inept with weaponry, Eugene is, and she's sick. It's not the virus, and her illness led them to risk the incursion into one of the big hospitals in New Orleans.

Without Pam's blood, and whatever unique spin her DNA has for the virus, the cure is worthless. 

But they're on their own, and Pam is vomiting. Hiding isn't an option, not unless he can barricade them somewhere. Finally, their luck changes, just a little. He swings open a door, and it's an actual empty hospital room. Ignoring the blood splatter than signifies the former occupant was either executed or turned and then executed, Eugene shoves Pam toward the bathroom. "Hide! Lock the door!"

Courage is not among his character traits, but if they both go into the locked bathroom, that's the end of the road for them both. Jamming the room's visitor chair isn't going to work, but it buys him time to move the bed. All those things he's read about terror lending strength hold true, because he shouldn't be able to move the bed so easily. Thumps and groans of frustrated, hungry dead run a staccato beat in his head, making him shudder. 

"Abe should have left us outside the city," he mumbles to himself. His objection had been overruled, with the big sergeant saying they didn't have enough people to split the group after they lost Josephine and Rex. Instead, exactly what Eugene feared happened.

Pam couldn't keep up, and she certainly couldn't keep quiet. All it took was her needing to vomit at the wrong time, and everything went wrong. He doesn't even know if the others are alive, and now he isn't sure if he can keep Pam that way, either. Searching the room for any leftover supplies, he finds an unused IV kit and bag of saline. 

That explains the amount of blood splatter. The military must have killed a nurse along with a patient here. Knocking at the door, he calls out for Pam, relieved when he hears the lock turn. She sinks to the floor, looking only a shade better than the dead banging on their door.

"Have you ever started an IV before?" she asks weakly.

"No, I cannot claim that as one of my myriad of collected skills." It can't be impossible to figure out. He's drawn blood before, so it's similar enough. "Find a vein and set the needle, right?"

Pam tries to laugh, but doesn't have the energy. Between fever and dehydration, she's on her last reserves. "Except the needle doesn't stay in."

Examining the IV kit, Eugene sees what she means. "The cannula stays?"

"Yeah." Extending her arm, Pam walks him through the process before nudging her pack toward him. "I can't keep the oral antibiotics down. There's a bag of IV antibiotics in there. Only one I could find. Useless til you found that."

Eugene considers moving her out to the hospital bed, but the dead are starting to quiet down now that they can't see or hear them. Putting Pam on the bed being used as a door block will fire them back up again. Instead, he makes a pillow out of a towel and makes her as comfortable as possible. The water still works, so he turns the faucet on a small drip and sponges her skin with a washcloth. 

"Need water," Pam mumbles, patting his chest. "Doan f'get."

The slurred language frightens him, but he heeds her warning. It's hot as hell in Louisiana in the summer, but they're inside a building meant to be air conditioned. He's already sweated his shirt through, and that's not even considering fear contributing. After washing them, he cups his hands under the trickle from the faucet and drinks.

All he can do now is wait and hope Abe and the rest survived, especially the kids. Eugene isn't normally fond of children, but over time, he's learned to be fond of Becca and AJ. Once the dead wander off, he'll test the windows to see if they can exit that way, but he's not optimistic. Places like this don't usually have windows that open.

Four hours pass with no change in Pam's fever, although she isn't vomiting. Eugene suspects it's because she no longer has anything to bring up. Creeping out on hands and knees, he eases to the door and listens. Raising up,the coast is clear, finally.

Pam's too weak to run, and the windows aren't a real option even if he manages to break one. She can't climb down any makeshift rope. Spotting an abandoned wheelchair, Eugene goes back and shuts the bathroom door. He can't lock it from this side, and the knob is one that fumbling dead can get lucky in opening, but it's better than nothing.

Easing the bed back only far enough to squeeze his girth out, Eugene makes his way cautiously to the wheelchair. Spotting a stray medication cart, he eases it along as well. Getting them both back into the room is tricky, but he manages.

Thinking the others might come looking for them, he shrugs out of his overshirt and snags it on the placard outside the room. Something drew the walkers away, and he just hopes it's their eventual rescue. Getting Pam out with a wheelchair and no working elevator is a problem he isn't sure how to tackle.

Using Pam's knife, he breaks into the cart, drawer by drawer. He isn't sure of what all's useful, but he recognizes the prescription grade Tylenol. When he opens the door, he drops the bottle. It clatters across the floor with an ungodly racket as he drops to his knees next to Pam.

There's a pulse still, faint and thready. But she's not breathing, and her lips are turning blue. Desperate, he begins CPR.

"C'mon, Pam," he begs, even as that stupid song plays in the back of his mind to keep pace. "Nothing I can do works without you."

Nothing works.

He loses the pulse.

Sobbing against the cold porcelain of the toilet, Eugene despairs, wondering if there's any point in continuing to try. The odds of finding someone else like Pam, someone who can survive the virus? They must be astronomically high. 

It's tempting to join her. She looks so peaceful after the ravages of the illness he still isn't entirely sure what is, other than it began with an infected wound. Pam was his friend, and now she's gone.

"Eugene! Pam!"

Abraham's voice is frantic, even as he puts a shoulder to the hospital room door. Reluctantly, Eugene gets to his feet and goes to let the other man inside. The time to escape the hell the world has become passes, even as Abe and the others despair as well. Rosita is gentle as she ensures Pam won't turn.

"What do we do now?" Becca asks, sounding so young as she holds her brother's hand. The other five members of their group guard them warily.

It's Abe who makes the call. "We get Eugene to the CDC in Atlanta, like we planned. His research is still too important not to get to them."

Tired, mourning, and dreading the road ahead, Eugene takes his place in the guarded center with the kids. For their sake, he hopes it's the right choice. As much as he wants to live now that the initial impact of Pam's death has passed, he can't help but think it could have been the children today.

All his knowledge isn't worth that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, Eugene appears...
> 
> And Maggie and Shane continue to clash over her wish to keep Beth's secret hidden.


	4. There's No Cure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upset that Shane's group is leaving soon, Beth spills half of the secret plaguing the Greene family, revealing her study of the captive walkers.

Beth slams Maggie's door open, not caring about the lecture she's going to get from her father and Patricia both. Her sister is actually startled, jumping from where she was reading in bed. Noelle yelps at the noise, the merle Australian Shepherd hiding under the bed as if Beth’s angry at her, like she would ever be angry at Maggie’s poor dog for simply being Maggie’s dog. 

"I guess you're happy with yourself," she shouts at Maggie.

"I'm not sure what you mean." The genuinely puzzled expression on her sister's face just makes Beth angrier.

"Shane asked Daddy what the risks are for him to leave in a few days. They're doing another x-ray to check for bone fragments, right now."

Maggie shuts her book and gets out of bed, wearing those stupid college logo pajamas. "We don't need strangers here, Beth. It's too risky." She glances toward the open door, keeping her voice soft and calm, like Beth is six and not sixteen.

"Risky how? It's not like they came looking for us. They're regular people, just survivors like us."

"They aren't like us, Bethie. Not like you."

Beth crosses her arms and glares. "How do you know? Daddy thinks it's in my blood, and he got a lot of it."

"Blood transfusions don't work like that. His body will recycle it all away within a few months. Only a bone marrow transplant would change anything. Word gets out, Beth, there are people who might try that."

"Scientists, maybe. But there's not many of those left around here, Maggie. You've been too stuck up to ask, but I did. Even the CDC is gone."

Maggie's angry now. She never likes Beth accusing her of being stuck up, but since she went off to college, that's exactly what her older sister became. Shawn never went, not after his troubles, and being older means Maggie does everything before Beth. It wouldn't have mattered if Beth went to college, because Maggie did it first.

"It was his idea to ask Jimmy to leave when they do. I just encouraged the idea."

"Well, however you did it, it's convinced him we're bad people. He told Daddy as much, that he doesn't consider this a safe place for the people he's responsible for when we can't even be dedicated to our own responsibilities."

"I didn't mean for them to leave right away."

Beth huffs at her. "Would you stay if you didn't feel safe?" Not that she feels safe here most days anymore. What if Otis gets bitten capturing those walkers? Shawn died trying to restrain Beth's mama, and Annette was a tiny woman. She can't imagine them trying to restrain Otis. They would all die, and if Beth’s the only one immune, she’s either alone or eaten. "We're safer with them here, not the other way around."

Maggie doesn't seem convinced, so Beth just leaves, making her way downstairs and outside. No one tries to stop her, so she makes it all the way to the barn, Julliard on her heels. The dog guards the ladder as she scrambles up, and it is the work of moments to retrieve her notebook for Shawn. She isn't ready to share the one of her mother.

"Beth? You shouldn't be wandering after dark."

She freezes, hearing Glenn's voice. The young Korean is normally friendly and nice, but he's at the top of the ladder and moving closer. Distracting him is probably possible, but Beth hesitates and then it is too late.

"Beth?" Glenn sounds strangled. "What's going on here?"

She doesn't even consider asking him not to tell, because she was already intending to tell Shane. The thought had occurred to her earlier, and if they're rushing to leave, she needs to know more. Glenn listens to her explanation, looking uneasy and sympathetic both as he stares down into the stalls below.

"Daddy thinks they can be cured," she finishes. "He won't like me telling anyone."

"We need to tell Shane and Rick." Glenn pats her shoulder awkwardly, still looking down at what used to be Beth's brother.

"I know." She shuffles her notebook against her chest. "I needed this to show them."

Glenn doesn't lead her to the house, but down to the campfire where all his group are gathered. They obviously know about Shane's wish to leave. She isn't shocked to see that Jimmy is sitting between Carol and Carl, with a bowl of something in his hands. His battered old duffel bag is nearby, and she’s glad for him, she really is.

It still sends a surge of guilt through her. If she hadn't complained about Jimmy, maybe nothing would have upset the truce until Shane was healthier. She's seen his pain when the meds wear off. How is he going to travel, especially out there where it's dangerous? He can’t even use both arms!

Glenn ushers her to a seat, shifting uneasily as everyone stares at them both. Rick and Shane aren't back yet, but something has to be said to explain why she's here. "Beth knows why they don't want us here. She wants our help."

It’s not the whole truth of why Maggie wants them gone, Beth knows, because she thinks her sister wants the walkers out of the barn as much as Beth does. But the other secret, the one everyone is so anxious to protect? She doesn’t have to tell them everything. This one thing is enough to see if they’re willing to help.

Dale pats a chair next to him, giving her a kindly smile. “Why don’t you have a seat until Rick and Shane come back, so you only have to tell your story once?”

Thanking him, Beth sits down in the camp chair, hugging the notebook to her chest. Jimmy meets her gaze, looking toward the barn. That much, Jimmy knows, because hiding the walkers in the barn is next to impossible. He didn’t know about her observations or what happened to her. She nods, and Jimmy heaves a sigh of relief. He hadn’t told the secret of the barn yet then.

~*~*~*~

Shane ought not be surprised when he sees that Beth is perched among his own people, and his heart goes out to the girl. While leaving seems safer for his own people, and definitely better for Jimmy in general not to be the tolerated outsider, poor Beth is going to end up even more isolated. She seems damned fidgety, squirming in her seat once he and Rick return.

“Something wrong, Bethie?” he asks, looking around the group. Most just seem curious, but there’s something in both Jimmy and Glenn’s expression that tells him they know more - and Glenn looks uneasy in a way that Shane doesn’t like at all from the brash young Korean.

“I need to show you something.” He goes to her, taking the chair that Dale offers, even as Beth passes him the little composition notebook she’s been clutching.

Opening it, his blood goes cold at the Polaroid taped to the first page, below a careful explanation of the death of a young man named Shawn. It’s so eerily close to the time with Jenner that he has to suppress an actual shudder at the thought. Turning the page, there’s a weekly timeline of observations, with the walker slowly showing deterioration at the snail pace slow rate the virus seems to protect them with.

“Beth, please tell me you’re doing this safely?” he manages, voice rough with the mere idea of delicate teenage Beth this near a walker. It seems to be contained somehow, and the photo angles are from above.

When he looks up, Beth and the two young men are all staring at the barn. She looks back at Shane and nods. “They’re in the barn.”

“They?” His voice breaks like a damned overexcited teenager at the idea of multiple walkers, and in a barn within sight of his own people and their flimsy tents.

She looks so guilty he reaches out and takes her hand, letting Rick snag the notebook. HIs brother thumbs through the pages, expression growing more and more horror struck with each one. 

“My mama, my brother, a bunch of neighbors.” She pauses, seeming to be doing a mental talley. “About a dozen, all in all. Each in a barn stall, chained up, and the barn’s chained, too.”

“Why?” It’s Lori who asks, tugging Carl in close like the boy’s a toddler. “Why keep walkers locked up?”

“Daddy thinks they’re just sick, and they can be cured.” Beth grips his hand hard, grief evident in her voice. “Maybe once they could be, but now, it seems cruel. Some of them have parts missing. And my mama and Shawn? They’re starting to lose hair and stuff. It’s probably not that long until they start losing parts of themselves, too.”

“Like leprosy or syphilis,” Dale says, voice hushed unusually for him. “Your father thinks it’s something like that, doesn’t he?”

Beth nods, since leprosy is something her father’s mentioned. The other being a sexually transmitted disease is probably why he didn’t take note of it. When Beth researched leprosy, as best as she could from the veterinary books that had tidbits because of armadillos, she wondered how long her father thought walkers could go untreated. 

“Jesus Christ,” Rick grinds out, looking sickened and angry. “It seemed weird that a veterinarian had so many other supplies, but no antibiotics.”

Shane makes the connection, too. “Beth? Did they ever try to treat your mother or brother with anything?”

She shakes her head, blond hair swooping along her shoulders. “Not that I saw, but I didn’t go to the barn right away. Daddy did go in there a while, when Shawn was dying. Mama died first, and she bit Shawn when he kept her away from me.” There’s a hiccupping sound where Shane realizes the girl is trying not to cry, and he says to hell with being a near stranger and slides his good arm across her thin shoulders. She leans into him easily.

Jimmy shifts uneasily, looking at Beth. “I found some packaging thrown away once, in a burn barrel. Otis told me to ignore it and not tell anyone I saw it.”

Taking a deep breath, Shane considers the issue. They were getting ready to leave, and Beth knew it, so she’s spilling this secret for a reason. “Beth? What are you wanting us to do?”

“I want to know if they can get better,” she says softly. “Because if they can’t, I don’t want to see my mama just lose parts of herself locked in a barn stall.”

Shane exchanges a look with Rick, who sighs. The other adults look equally weary of what he’s about to tell the girl. “We went by the CDC in Atlanta. The last scientist still working there says there’s nothing there, even if they had a cure, it’s too late for the ones already that far gone.”

“You’re sure?” she asks, her expression turning resolute enough that he finally sees some resemblance of Beth and her sister. “Absolutely sure?”

“Yeah, sweetheart. He showed us a recording of an MRI of someone’s brain, both before they die of the illness and after the virus reactivates their brain. Everything was gone, after. Only the parts of the brain needed for basic functions.”

“Like being brain dead.”

She’s picking up on it almost faster than Shane did, with Jenner’s deliberate grandstanding on how he shared the information. “Exactly like that.”

“I need someone to tell my sister they can’t get better. She needs to understand it’s cruel to keep them locked up like that, instead of letting them lay to rest like they should have been. It’s not safe for Otis to be finding them and locking them up, either. He shouldn’t have to die to make us feel better.”

“Alright.” Arguing with Maggie Greene seems to be a talent of his, so what’s one more thing to tackle? Beth’s right that if Otis is capturing loose walkers, the big man is at a huge risk of being bitten, and the idea of someone that size dead and walking is a little terrifying even to Shane, and he’s at least in the man’s size range. Beth or Jimmy wouldn’t stand a chance.

He has to let her go to take the notebook Rick offers. “Want me to go with you?” his brother asks.

“Nah. Think if both of us show up, it’s like the cops knocking on your door when you’re trying to hide the drug stash instead of flushing it.”

That draws laughs from several around their campfire, although it’s an uneasy reaction. Shane suspects if they can’t settle this with Hershel, they may be headed off the farm by morning. He’ll have to ask Dale about Lori, Carol, and the kids sleeping inside the RV tonight. No sense taking chances with the kids, and while Lori could fight if she needed to, he has no idea if Carol could find the strength of will for it.

Beth trails behind him, a bit like a lost puppy, so he pauses at the porch. “You want to keep the notebook?” he asks her. “Plenty of ways for us to find out that don’t involve you.”

She squares her shoulders and juts her chin out. “I’m not hiding what I was doing anymore. Maybe it’ll help, if he sees what’s happening. He doesn’t go in the barn, just Otis with new ones and Patricia to feed them chickens.”

That explains the stained clothing in the photos, Shane supposes. The idea that only the hired help is taking the risks pisses him off, and he has to bite down on his own temper. Just because Beth’s not seen her father in the barn, doesn’t mean he doesn’t go there. Hershel obviously doesn’t know his daughter observes the captives from the hayloft. It would be equally easy for the girl to miss her father’s attempts to cure the walkers.

“Let’s go see what we can get done then.” He doesn’t knock like he should, not with Beth right on his heels. For all her bravado, the teenager is half hidden behind him when he steps into the dining room where Hershel, Maggie, Otis, and Patricia are sitting down to supper. They obviously expect the girl, because her place is set where she usually eats. He’s been eating meals with them, but the tense earlier exam and discussion led to him stating he would be moving down to his people’s camp permanently.

“Deputy Walsh, is there a problem?” Hershel asks, getting to his feet. It’s old school manners that still linger in the older man, and Shane hopes those manners hold better than Maggie’s do.

Shane feels Beth’s fingers twist into the back of his shirt, so he nods and offers the notebook to the veterinarian. “Beth came to ask me what we knew of any possibility of the dead being cured.”

Hershel’s look is sharp, but the ire is directed at Shane, not Beth. He opens the notebook and pales so quickly that Shane worries for him for a moment. Like Rick, the man turns the pages without comment, looking more and more unsettled with each page. Finally, he looks up, and this time his focus is on his daughter, not Shane. “Bethie? Have you been doing this all by yourself?”

The girl moves to where she can see her father better, but nods. “I wanted to know, and no one would tell me anything. I’m not a little kid, Daddy. Haven’t been since Mama got sick.”

There’s a dull thud as Hershel sinks into his chair, the notebook dropping to the table. Maggie reaches out and claims in, looking through it even as Hershel starts weeping softly. Beth lets go of Shane’s shirt with a soft cry, going to fling her arms around her father. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

To his credit, Hershel pulls Beth close, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I’m the one who should be sorry, sweetheart, not you.”

Maggie looks equally disturbed now, and Patricia looks puzzled, but Otis looks… guilty. Shane wonders if the farm hand knew what Beth was doing and kept the girl’s secret the same as he’s been keeping Hershel’s. He chooses not to remark on it, but instead, he pulls out the empty chair closest to Hershel and sits down. When the veterinarian meets his eyes, he explains their time in the CDC in more detail than he’d given Beth.

Hershel’s quiet for a long time after he finishes, and even Maggie is surprisingly quiet. “So there’s no hope at all, for the ones already infected and gone.”

“None. I’m no scientist, Hershel, but Jenner was. That MRI was about as graphic as it can get.”

“And the only ones close to a cure for the rest of us, all infected no matter what we do, were scientists in France.”

Shane figures the odds of a cure crossing the Atlantic at this point, if those scientists survived past the communications failure Jenner reported, are about on a level of him swimming over there. Europe went down as hard and fast as the United States did, maybe faster, because they were smaller countries. “That’s what Jenner believed. It’s possible there’s other labs, since the CDC isn’t the only research lab in the area, and surely the government had a setup somewhere else in case Atlanta fell, but there’s no guarantee.”

“We’re truly on our own,” Maggie states, closing the notebook.

“Based on the military’s attacks on civilians, yeah, I think we are,” Shane tells her. She looks up from contemplation of the dinner table and studies him, looking closer to the truce bearer on the porch than the prickly woman he’s gotten used to.

“We shouldn’t prolong their suffering, Daddy,” Beth says. “Or risking Otis.”

At the reminder of the danger to his employee, Hershel meets the man’s gaze. “What do you think of all this?” he asks Otis.

Otis twists his cloth napkin uneasily, looking from Beth to Hershel to Shane himself. “I think Beth’s got the right idea. You haven’t seen how bad some of them are, Hershel. There’ve been ones I gave mercy to instead of bringing them back.”

Hershel is lost in thought for a moment longer, patting Beth’s arms where she’s got them around his shoulders still. “May the Lord give me strength,” he says, head bowed. “Will you go with me?”

The question is directed at Otis, made obvious when Hershel looks up to meet the other man’s steady gaze. “Of course.”

The cryptic question is made clear when Hershel gently detangles himself from his youngest daughter and passes her to Maggie. “Look after your sister for a while, Maggie.”

The older Greene sister looks stricken, but nods. Hershel moves like a man even older than he already is, heading for the door. Shane and Otis follow, leaving the ladies behind. “Dr. Greene, if you need any help,” Shane begins, understanding that Hershel intends to end what he began in the barn.

He’s cut off by a haggard look from Hershel. “It’s destroying the brainstem that ends their suffering right?”

“Any major damage to the head seems to be effective,” Shane admits. Why that works, when the brainstem is obviously in charge, he doesn’t know, but it does, thank God. He doesn’t want to think of the accuracy required to hit the brainstem itself.

“Thank you. Otis and I should be just fine.”

Shane can’t help following, though, and neither man turns him aside. Hershel shows some knowledge of noise being risky, because after he unlocks the padlock on the front of the barn, the older man goes to fetch a pitchfork from where it’s hung near the door. Otis pulls out his own keys, and the two men work in tandem, Otis unlocking the padlocks on each stall, and Hershel stepping inside. The man’s grunt of exertion followed by each meaty thud tells Shane when the walkers go down.

It’s not until the end, when the veterinarian only has two stalls to go, that there’s any hesitation or speech. As Otis opens each of those stalls, Shane hears the man pray for forgiveness, even as he follows through. Hershel’s sobbing at the end, leaning on the pitchfork, and when Otis motions for Shane to leave the barn he does.

Hershel’s grief isn’t something that needs any more audience than Otis standing there with a comforting hand on his shoulder. Instead, feeling like he did every time he had to do a death notification to a family as a deputy, Shane approaches the farm house. He take that much burden away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In so many of my stories, the walkers are put down by Shane's group, Maggie, Beth, etc. It was time for Hershel to take charge for once.
> 
> The emotional fallout from clearing the barn will be next chapter, and eventually, we'll see Eugene pop up again.


	5. Beyond Limitations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shane explains the reasons he was upset over Maggie's apathy about Jimmy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shane POV only chapter

Shane watches Beth head up the stairs with Patricia. The older blonde has an arm around the girl, speaking softly and soothingly. It leaves him and Maggie alone in the living room. Her father and Otis came in one at a time earlier, going upstairs to shower. Otis returned downstairs, but Hershel did not.

Notifications had always been easier for Shane to do than Rick, because his partner always empathized so much with the people involved. It’s harder for Shane to find the needed distance he usually found so easy this time. He’s fond of Beth, and as much as she’d sought his help, the girl still grieved the finality of what happened tonight.

“Are you sure moving back to your tent is a good idea?” Maggie asks, startling Shane out of those somber thoughts.

Honestly, the idea of trying to sleep in the tent, even with the good sleeping pad he has, sounds a little intimidating. Getting in and out of bed is uncomfortable as hell, and then he’s at least got the elevation to help. 

“Not going to leave Jimmy on his own. Promised him.” He cuts himself off before finishing that what he promised was that he wasn’t an unwelcome burden. Maggie doesn’t need that tonight, even as angry as it made him earlier.

“You seem really set on looking after him.” There’s honest curiosity in Maggie’s expression this time, and just enough regret to make him consider answering.

“I was raised by a single mother, and she was diagnosed with stage four breast cancer when I was twelve years old.” He sees the realization click for Maggie even before he continues. “She fought the cancer for two and a half years. Double mastectomy, chemo, experimental chemo. Things worked a while, but then the cancer would double back in a new area. Liver, bones, lungs… finally her brain, those last months.”

“Was it just you and her?” Maggie asks, voice carefully even. He’s actually happy she’s avoiding the sympathy most give if he tells them about his mother’s illness.

“Had my grandmother, but she was nearly sixty when I was born. My mama wasn’t so sure a seventy year old woman would be allowed to raise a teenage boy all on her own. She grew up in foster care, so that was her worst fear for me.” Foster care now is rough. Foster care back in the sixties and seventies? It’s not something Shane likes to dwell on.

“Did you go into foster care?” 

“No. I honestly don’t think anyone ever checked on me once she was gone. Just moved in with my grandma and kept going to school.” Shane shrugs. “But I’ve dealt with foster kids before. Kid like Jimmy? He’s spent his whole life never being allowed to stay in any home more than a year, did you know that?”

Maggie shakes her head, looking horrified. “Why?”

“I’m sure the state has some stupid reason for it, but outside of group homes, a year is usually the maximum a child stays with any set of foster parents. Maybe it’s to keep them from being attached if they can’t or won’t adopt. In the end, it means that the kids get bounced from home to home, no stability at all, and the group homes? Those can be worse.”

“Jesus. No wonder he was always so eager to help out and stay out of trouble.”

“When he came here, how were his clothes and belongings packed?” Shane needs her to really understand. The first time he’d seen what he’s asking her about, it had made him get stuck between livid and sick. 

“A black garbage bag. Otis gave him an old army surplus duffel.”

“That’s usually a foster kid’s only suitcase. Think of how many years that kid’s been handed a garbage bag to pack what few things he owns into.”

“Oh God. I didn’t know.” She presses a hand to her mouth, looking the same mix of angry and ill that Shane remembers being. Finally, she drops her hand. “That’s why he was willing to trust you so easily. You understood.”

Shane nods, getting to his feet with a pained grunt when his immobilized shoulder twists a little wrong. “I need to be getting back.”

Maggie’s goodnight is subdued, and he leaves her sitting on the couch looking thoughtful. It’s nearing dusk, and the look on Jimmy’s face is so damned anxious, yet relieved, that Shane nearly sighs. He makes sure to stop next to the teenager and drop a hand on his shoulder. “C’mon, let’s stick your bag in my tent.”

Picking up the duffel, Jimmy follows him over, and Shane sorts through his gear that’s just piled in the tent since he’s been sleeping in the house. “Here’s you a sleeping pad and a sleeping bag. Too hot for the sleeping bag, really, so just extra padding.”

Jimmy takes the offered items. “I’m not taking yours, am I?”

“Nah. Got extra.” Technically, it’s because he intended to hitch them together to sleep, but he can handle not doing that. He nudges the other pair of items with the toe of his boot, then uses his foot to slide a milk crate over to the center of the far wall. Emptying the crate, he flips it over and sets the camp lantern on it. “Voila. Bedside table.”

It makes the teenager laugh while he unrolls his sleeping gear. “You gonna leave the rest of the stuff on the floor?”

Shane glances down at the pile and grins. Much of it is gleaned from the highway traffic jam, as he’d lost pretty much all his gear when the Jeep was overrun in Atlanta. Only his duffel bag made it because it had been in the Cherokee. “Might as well. Not like we can stuff it under our beds, right?”

Honestly, the idea of crouching down to sort it out makes him wince, and Jimmy seems to figure that out. He stacks everything into a semblance of order. “You like to read?”

“Here and there, when I have time.” With his mind set on leaving back at the highway, he had honestly considered he would have a lot of time on his hands without a dozen people to look after. When he found the milk crate full of books in some abandoned Toyota, he discarded a few he wouldn’t read. Adding the camp lantern from another vehicle and a smattering of oddball items like a camping axe, spare flashlight, and a canteen, the books had been covered until he dumped it.

The way Jimmy’s looking at one of the books, he offers, “Read whatever you like.”

Smiling a little shyly, the boy drops it onto his sleeping bag. “I’ve never actually been camping.”

“Gotta start somewhere.” Shane glances around and sighs. “Won’t always be calm and quiet, somewhere we can set up a tent, Jimmy. Out there? Off the farm? Could be nights we spend on the road, sleeping in the cars.”

“I understand. You made that clear earlier. It’s dangerous out there.” Jimmy sits crosslegged on his sleeping bag. “I’ve been off the farm, sorta. I went with Otis a bit. Helped him bring in a few of the walkers.”

Shane refrains from cursing by a narrow margin, only because it might scare the kid. “How in the hell did he manage that without getting bitten?”

“Those poles with loops, like animal control uses. Get it around their neck and lead them in.” Jimmy’s shoulders hunch in a bit before he continues. “He’d keep hold of the pole, and I would walk ahead to keep it headed the direction he wanted it to go.”

From somewhere deep in his memory, thanks to some stress management class the department required him to take, Shane drags up the idea to count to ten. Ten’s not sufficient, so he ends up making it to fifty. “Jimmy? Anybody asks you to be walker bait? You tell them to fuck off and come get me. Or tell Rick, Lori, or Dale if I’m not available.”

Nosy and annoying as the old bastard is sometimes, Dale would lose his utter shit if someone suggested using any of the kids to lure walkers along. Hell, the man never liked the risks Glenn took for the group back in Atlanta, and Glenn’s at least well over legal age as an adult. He can’t see Rick or Lori allowing it, especially if it meshes in Lori’s mind that Jimmy’s a kid. Shane makes a mental note to tell the others what he just learned, too.

“Alright. I just worried Otis would get hurt by himself.”

Teaching the kid self preservation is probably going to take longer than anything else, Shane’s afraid, but they’ll get there. “Shouldn’t be long before the ladies have supper ready. Think I saw Daryl bring some rabbits back.”

Jimmy nods. “Four of them. Said his snares were doing well out around the edges of the cow pastures where the blackberries and stuff grow.”

Before they can head back out of the tent, a familiar voice says “knock knock” outside the tent.

“It’s open,” Shane calls out, smirking at Jimmy when he laughs.

Maggie ducks into the tent, carrying two fairly nice camping cots, the kind with actual small mattresses instead of just canvas. She looks a little sheepish as she sets them down. “Shawn liked to go camping, but he wasn’t the sleep on the ground type. Figured they’d be easier on your shoulder than a sleeping bag.”

It’s a peace offering, Shane thinks, especially since she brought two. “They’re definitely welcome. Thank you.”

“No sense in them gathering dust.” Maggie slides a bag off her shoulder and offers it to Jimmy. “Some of the other parts of his camping gear, so you have your own.”

Jimmy is so hesitant to take it that Shane ends up reaching out instead. Maggie looks resigned, but doesn’t comment. “Thanks again. Figured we could go back out to glean extra items on the highway, but this saves us having to do that right away.”

“Before you decide for sure about going, can you come up for breakfast tomorrow? Clear up a few things with Daddy.”

Although the invitation is indicating her father, Shane knows the biggest issue for him was Maggie’s behavior. She is making an effort, so he can at least hear them out. None of his people are really ready to go back on the road just yet. “Alright. How about I come up after breakfast, though?”

Maggie glances toward Jimmy and seems to understand, nodding. “I’ll see you in the morning then.”

Once she’s gone, the teenager looks concerned. “Do you think everything will be okay? I think everyone would be happier to stay until you’re doing a lot better.”

At least that confirms that Jimmy listened in as he sat around the fire. “It’s possible. If the walkers in the barn were the thing they didn’t want us interfering with, that’s done and over with, at least. I’ll keep an open mind.” 

Jimmy takes the cots and sets them both up, and they each spread out a sleeping bag. Rummaging in the bag Maggie brought, the teen laughs. “Even got little camp sized pillows.”

“How well do you know Beth’s family?” Shane asks, a little curious about what these people had been like before the world ended.

“I’d been invited out for Sunday dinner a few times before. We only dated for three months, so I hadn’t met Maggie until she came home when everything started shutting down.”

“I thought she worked in her father’s clinic?”

“Summers and stuff, yeah. But she was still finishing up veterinary school.” Jimmy sits on the cot and looks thoughtful. “Dr. Greene didn’t used to be so standoffish. He and Mrs. Greene were looking into making sure I stayed at the local group home long enough to graduate high school.”

“That was pretty nice of them.”

“Yeah, I thought so. I wasn’t here when Mrs. Greene and Shawn died. I wish I’d come sooner, but the home kept saying we were going to be bussed to Columbus. No one ever came, so eventually the two staffers that stayed loaded kids into their personal cars. I figured the Greenes were probably safer than a refugee center somewhere. Walked all the way here.”

The idea of the teenager walking from town to the farm all by himself makes Shane shudder. “So you do have a good idea of what it’s like out there?”

Jimmy nods, looking fearful, but resolute. “I can’t imagine it got any better than it did at the end of May.”

“It definitely did not.” Shane jerks his head toward the tent opening. “I need to go touch base with Rick and the others about meeting with the Greenes in the morning. You can go hang out with Carl and Sophia, or stay here if you’re all visited out.”

Somehow, Shane isn’t surprised when the kid follows him back to the others, who are still settled in camp chairs. No one is really ready to turn in for the night, he supposes. Glenn is playing Uno with the kids and T-Dog, and they deal Jimmy in easily. Shane eases into the chair next to Rick, and all eyes are on him quickly.

“We still looking to pull out before the end of the week?” Rick asks, looking concerned. He’d loathed the idea of leaving the farm as long as Shane’s still go this arm up in the brace, but he also understood Shane’s reasoning. It hadn’t been just the weirdness of the Greene farm, but also the idea of Fort Benning being more likely to have human doctors to look over Shane’s shoulder and wounds.

“Maggie seems to be waving a truce flag. Wants me to come up to the house in the morning to discuss things again. Figured might be best if you came along for that one, Rick. Cover all our bases.”

“I can do that.” Something tense in Rick’s expression eases. “It’s safer to stay at least a couple of weeks, if we can. We almost lost you, Shane.”

Rick isn’t the only one with the relieved expression, so Shane just nods. He passes on what Jimmy’s told him, especially about the walker baiting. From the looks of everyone, it isn’t just the three people he told Jimmy to go to that would stand up for the kid now. Shane makes a mental note to bring it up with Hershel, who might not have known. It’s too easy, sometimes, to look at a kid Jimmy’s size and mistakenly see an adult, not a teenager, and Otis had a hell of an extra job to do.

Shane would like to stick around to make sure Beth’s okay, too. The girl had been so brave in giving them the information, but the reality of her mother and brother’s deaths still hit her hard. He’s grown fond of the girl, more than he expected, but he’s discovering since his injury especially that he’s got a larger capacity than just Carl to play uncle to.

Seems the apocalypse is teaching him to go beyond all those limitations he thought he had before. He finds he doesn’t really mind at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had considered a Eugene POV, too, but the chapter just seemed complete as is. Time will probably move a little faster after this chapter.
> 
> Jimmy as Walker Bait is canon, sadly. BetaDaughter and I have been binge watching seasons 1-5, and she had a major fit seeing the barn scene, because Hershel and Rick were using Jimmy to lure the walkers into walking where they wanted them to go. Then I forgot how horrifically the boy dies to warn her about it, so she's made me promise Jimmy gets Sophia level priority in all future stories.
> 
> Final note... I'm not sure how stage IV breast cancer was treated in the mid-eighties. Shane's mother's story is a homage to BetaDaughter's godmother, who died in 2007 after her 2.5 year breast cancer battle. Shane would have been the type of character she would have loved to analyze and write.


	6. How Many More Will Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The kids talk Shane into getting them training, while Eugene gains a new protector for his mission.

The worst part about his patched together collarbone is that Shane’s not used to being idle. There’s only so much reading he can do or how long puzzle books keep his attention, and the fact that it’s his right arm makes things worse. Even feeding himself is complicated. At least that frustration keeps his mind off the breathing exercises to keep his healing lung on track, though.

“C’mon. We’re going for a walk, and we promised to take an adult along.” It’s Carl, grinning over the edge of the porch at Shane.

Since his and Rick’s conversation with Hershel and Maggie led to them staying for Shane’s full convalescent period, Shane’s people have been helping make reinforcements to the farm. Their group really is wary of getting back on the road, but the sheer openness of the farm is worrisome to those with tactical sense. It’s apparently contagious, once Shane brings it up at supper after they decide to stay, and everyone falls in to help.

Leaving his book on the swing, Shane gets to his feet. Carl’s not alone, because Sophia, Jimmy, and Beth are all with him. “Where are we walking to?” he asks.

He’s armed, part of the negotiation to stay he and Rick led. Duty weapons for the two deputies, a single rifle for whoever is on watch. It’s a good thing as a firearms instructor he’s spent plenty of time training his non-dominant hand, but it still feels weird to have the holster shifted for left-handed draw.

“Just around. Like a patrol,” Carl informs him. The boy’s white cast on his left forearm is covered in colorful drawings and doesn’t seem to slow him down one bit.

“Uh huh.” Shane knows there’s a plot afoot here, but he’ll wait it out. The areas the kids are confined to don’t really need an adult escort. He knows all the kids like to cluster around him now, so it could just be they think he needs some distraction. But that just doesn’t quite fit their expressions.

It takes almost an entire circuit before Beth speaks, after some poorly hidden nudging that is obviously trying to decide between Carl and Beth as spokesperson. “We want to learn to fight,” she says. “We don’t like feeling helpless.”

When he stops and scans all their expressions, he sees mostly the same thing. Resolute determination overlaying fear and uncertainty. He can’t argue with the request, but he suspects the others will. They still think the children are to be protected.

“I’ll talk to your parents,” Shane tells them. “But I can only give permission for Jimmy.” Of the remaining three, he thinks Carol will be the easiest to convince, because he’s going to insist she learns, too. After feeling so impotent when Sophia was missing, the older woman will agree, he thinks.

The three younger kids all look at Jimmy, who nods. “Well, if I learn, they can.”

“Ah.” There’s the plot then. If the others aren’t allowed, Jimmy’s going to teach them on the sly. Shane decides to keep that to himself for now, and just oversee their little rebellion the best he can if it comes to that. “I’ll talk to the others today, and let y’all know by bedtime.”

The little quartet keeps up the subterfuge by making another circuit of their safe zone, before going off to help Patricia weed the garden before lunch. With most of the adults gathered for the midday meal at the small camp, Shane goes to tackle the hardest set of parents: Rick and Lori.

As he predicts, even with her softened demeanor towards him after the shooting, Lori balks instantly. She clutches at Rick’s arm. “He’s a little boy. We’ll protect him. I don’t want him with a knife or a gun!”

Shane sighs and turns his attention on Carol instead. “I’m not saying hand the kids a gun, not without a lot of training. I’m not even saying give them knives right away. All of them need to learn basic self-defense and situational awareness.” Reaching for her hand with his, Shane squeezes lightly. “So do you.”

The glimmer of tears in her blue eyes makes him feel a surge of guilt, but he suppresses it, especially once she nods. “I know I do.” Glancing to Rick and Lori, Carol squares her shoulders, but she doesn’t let go of Shane’s hand. “Sophia and I will be learning all that we can. Not just self-defense. All that we can.”

Carol’s focus moves from Lori and Rick to Daryl, and Shane isn’t surprised to see the redneck give a single, jerky nod. When he catches the man’s eye, Daryl just shrugs. His drawl is added to the conversation. “Wouldn’t be a bad thing, for the kids to learn to hunt and track. Know how to survive in the woods if they get lost. What’s safe to eat and what’s not.”

“World ain’t going back to the land of supermarkets and being able to call 911,” Shane adds, looking around the whole group. “Carol’s right that it’s not just the kids that need to learn. More of us know things outside our comfort zone, the less pressure on an individual to help us get by.”

The point sinks in, because they’re all nodding. When he returns his attention to Lori and Rick, he can see that Rick agrees. That’s not a surprise, because his brother’s been a cop too long not to. This world’s still too new to him to truly comprehend the scope of it, but he’s trying.

Lori? The woman is fiddling with her wedding band, shoulders slumped as she stares at either her feet or hands. Finally, she takes a deep breath. “I’m not comfortable with weapons, and I don’t want him off the farm, not yet. But the rest? I agree he needs to learn.” Swallowing hard, she straightens and looks at Shane, gaze flicking to his shoulder and then his adjusted holster. “No guns until that cast is off his arm.”

It’s actually a logical request. An adult who is already familiar with weapons can work around an injury, just like Shane is doing. But a kid doesn’t have muscle memory to fall back on, and teaching Carl to work around it now may make it harder later.

“Alright. I still have to talk to Hershel about Beth, and probably Patricia, if she’s willing.”

“What about Maggie?” Andrea asks, frowning. Considering Shane’s clash with Maggie over Jimmy is why he wanted to leave the farm, he supposes it does seem like she’s being excluded.

Shane just laughs softly. “I’m not sure if Hershel is willfully ignoring it, but Maggie’s been carrying concealed every day we’ve been on this farm. A holster and gun that’s fitted to being hidden that well? She’s familiar with firearms and probably self defence after years on a college campus. But I’ll ask her.”

To be honest, he wishes Lori was more inclined to be an instructor. He can’t exactly teach hands-on like he used to for self defence classes, and she’s taken every last one possible. For all the strain Rick’s job placed on their marriage, Lori never hesitated in doing her part as a cop’s wife. Being able to defend herself was one of those things expected of her.

“How about we plan on starting in the morning, after breakfast?” Rick suggests. “Maybe start everyone who needs it off in an exercise routine? Running through those woods damn near broke me.”

It’s probably as much why Rick tried to hide Sophia as his lack of weaponry. It brings up another point Shane needs to make. “Speaking of the run through the woods, that’s another thing that needs to change. We need every adult carrying knives. Multiple knives on each person.”

“Backups to the backup,” Daryl mumbles, hand resting on the hilt of his big hunting knife. “Drop one, got another.”

“We don’t have that many blades,” T-Dog notes. “I took inventory of what we found before we left the highway. Could maybe get a belt knife on half of us and a pocket knife for everyone, but none of us want to rely on a knife that short, right?”

“Glenn? Pull together a supply run. Start with town first. Ask if there’s a pawn shop or something similar. Maybe Otis knows the other hunters around, since men like that often collect knives, too.” The younger man nods easily at Shane’s request.

“I’ll go with him,” Rick offers. “I’ve been to town. Checking out the hunters might yield more ammo and firearms, if the hunters died early of the virus.”

“Stock half to the Greenes, half with us, after you find out what they will actually use,” Shane instructs, glancing toward the farmhouse. When they leave, the ones left here need more firepower than he expects Hershel will have stockpiled. Otis hunts, and he knows as a country vet Hershel probably has a decent supply of ammo for that shotgun of his. He’ll need to find out what caliber of gun Maggie carries. Just because he’s seen the hint of it at her back doesn’t give away enough. Could be anything from a twenty-two to a nine milimeter.

With things settled better than he can hope for, Shane tackles the second half of parental consent with more optimism. Hershel’s been keeping to himself since the funerals for his wife and stepson. He comes out and does the work necessary for the farm, and he’s kept up with Shane’s recovery.

Shane isn’t surprised to find him at the little gravesite, seated on a makeshift stool of an upended bucket. The older man has his Bible in his lap, but he doesn’t seem to be reading from what Shane can tell. Just in case, he clears his throat.

That gets Hershel's attention. “Can I help you with something, deputy?” He sounds like the weight of the world is on his shoulders.

“We’re going to start some training with our people, especially the kids. Starting out with just exercise, hunting, woodcraft, and self defence, but we intend to work our way up to knives and eventually firearms.” Before Hershel can renew his objection to guns on his property, Shane holds up a hand. “No shooting ranges on the farm. The noise is too much of a risk to do it here, even if you gave permission.”

“I don’t see any reason to object to those plans,” Hershel replies, but it sinks in. “You want to include my people in that. My girls, and probably Patricia, too.”

“While I hope like hell they never need any of it, better safe than sorry, Hershel.”

Hershel looks back toward the twin graves and heaves out a deep sigh. “I suppose you’re right. If they’re willing to do the work, I will make no objections to them learning.”

“You’re welcome to join in, you and Otis both. It’s not just the women and kids that need extra skills among my people.”

That gets a wry laugh out of the old man. “I assure you that I’ve plenty of skill with guns and knives, and there’s nothing the roaming dead can throw at me that I haven’t dealt with from livestock or pets over the years. But thank you kindly for the offer. Otis might participate, might not. It’s up to him.”

Nodding, Shane bids the man goodbye, venturing away. Starting tomorrow, he’ll have a lot more on his plate than his own recovery, and it feels better than it should. Maybe it’s not ideal circumstances, but he’s always enjoyed teaching folks to become self-sufficient. It’ll be good to see his people bloom instead of stagnate like he allowed them to do at the quarry.

~*~*~*~

Eugene swabs the woman’s arm with the alcohol wipe, trying to smile reassuringly at her. Finding another small group right after they crossed the Georgia border had been both surprising and not. His current patient is a co-leader of the small ragtag band who barricaded themselves in a small walled off apartment complex. Most are survivors who fled the Atlanta Refugee Center when it fell.

“You really think there’s a cure?” Michonne asks, wincing as he draws enough blood to fill a vial. She’s a slim, athletically built woman, with long dreadlocks past her shoulders.

“I know there’s a cure. The problem is finding another person capable of producing the antibodies.” Losing Pam still aches on more than one level, especially since it wasn’t even the virus or dead who took her from them, but simple human illness. They’ve lost more of their group since then. Getting to Georgia whittled them down to six.

“So you’re just going to test everyone you come across?” 

“Everyone that consents to it, yes.” Eugene checks the EldonCards on the counter, taking note of her blood type with a sigh. “Your blood type is A positive, for your own knowledge.”

“And my son’s?” she asks. The boy is playing with a stethoscope Eugene gave him to distract him, happily content in the way that only toddlers can manage. “I know it’s something I should have known already.”

“Also A positive. The number of people who are not first responders or military that do not know their own blood types is rather extensive,” he remarks. “I’ll need to run further tests, but it’s doubtful that you have the antibodies, so I probably won’t draw any blood from your son.”

“How can you be so sure?” Michonne looks relieved that Andre’s only testing is the finger stick to determine his blood type, however.

“The research center that I was brought into in Houston was able to test over a thousand people before the infrastructure began collapsing. The only blood taken that even attempted to fight the virus was O negative, and that’s not across the board. There’s some other factor at play.”

“Like what?” She’s watching him prepare his samples from the vial with intense curiosity. Unlike most survivors they’ve encountered, she’s educated and curious. Since Pam died, he hasn’t really had anyone to discuss the science of this disaster, so he smiles at her.

“The general public operates under the misunderstanding that blood typing consists of two factors, your blood group and the Rh factor protein or lack thereof. Blood group is the presence or absence of two antigens, A or B, on the surface of your red blood cells. The Rh factor is also well known to the average person, so most consider there to be only eight blood types.”

“And there are more, correct? I remember reading an article once about a little girl who had a blood type so rare they couldn’t find a match.”

“That is correct. There are more than six hundred other known antigens involved in human blood, the presence or absence of which results in rare blood types. I suspect that the ability to be immune to the virus when instigated by the teeth of the roaming dead is an as yet unidentified or completely unknown antigen or combination of antigens.”

“Jesus,” she breathes. “You’re headed for the CDC, right?”

“Yes, ma’am, we most certainly are. We determined that logistically the Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta had the highest likelihood of remaining standing in this disastrous FUBAR the world has descended into. Should that venerable institution fail to survive, it places us halfway to Washington, DC, and there were several governmental facilities in that area capable of the research analysis needed. This mobile laboratory, while high technology for the rural countryside, is a poor imitation of an actual research facility’s capabilities.”

It truly is. Abraham had commandeered a Humvee turned ambulance, and they’d stocked the back with everything they could scrounge for Eugene to attempt to research while they traveled. But it is laughable. Even if he finds another of the preciously rare immune survivors, he can’t even begin to sort things out without a real laboratory.

“You need more people. Traveling with four adults and two children cannot be safe.”

Eugene suppresses the wave of grief and frustration that nearly smothers him with the reminder of how many people they’ve lost. “We know that. And Abraham will speechify with all his oratory power to convince the able bodied of your people to travel along with us.”

“You disagree with that?” Michonne tilts her head, studying him closely. He wonders what her profession was, back when the world made more sense.

“Far be it for me to criticize the esteemed sergeant in matters of security, ma’am, but logic dictates to me that if well-trained soldiers fell by the wayside in our travels, half-trained civilians will be even more at risk.” Like Eugene himself, who can barely manage a blunt weapon against the dead, and only that much because getting separated in New Orleans proved to Abraham that some training was desperately needed. “I cannot in good conscience condone more people dying fruitlessly in the endeavor to deliver my person to Atlanta.”

“And if the civilian isn’t half-trained?” she asks with a sly smile.

Eugene blinks at her, remembering the katana she wore on her back when Rosita encountered her while rummaging for supplies. A lot of survivors pick up weaponry, even unique ones like Michonne’s. But he suspects that her possession of said weapon isn’t foolish posturing like most. “You are volunteering to escort us to Atlanta?”

When he turns to look at Andre, who is still fascinated with the stethoscope, she laughs softly. “Sitting behind a wall praying for a government rescue will not benefit my son’s long-term survival, Eugene. Helping you and your people get to Atlanta, a city I have lived in all my life? Well, that just might increase his chances of surviving to see his next birthday.”

It doesn’t surprise Eugene one bit that when their small convoy pulls out, leaving the Georgia/Alabama border behind, their group has grown from six to ten, increasing their total children to protect to three. The majority of Michonne’s group stays behind, a community of twenty-seven hopefully safe behind walls and their remaining leader’s guidance.

Rosita looks resolute as she drives the medical Humvee, positioned behind Abraham’s huge truck as always. “It is their choice to come along, Eugene.”

Staring out the window, Eugene wishes he had half her confidence. They’ve lost so many on the way here, people he wishes he never got attached to. How many more will fall by the wayside before they find out a way to stop this disease?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't detail them in the chapter, but remember this is a story where Abe's kids lived, but his wife didn't. They still have one member of the traveling group (Josiah). Michonne, Andre, and two adults join at the border town. If those two need names later, I'll use random folks from the Georgia seasons, probably Zach and Haley.


End file.
